


Get Lucky

by asweetdepravity



Category: Armipace, RALP - Fandom, Richard Armitage/Lee Pace - Fandom, Richlee - Fandom
Genre: Canon, M/M, Mild Angst, also fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 22:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3428204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asweetdepravity/pseuds/asweetdepravity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one of those days.</p><p>Lee finds it hard to be himself.<br/>Richard thinks about them, about Lee.<br/>Lee overthinks. </p><p>One of those days when Richard thinks he's a lucky man.</p><p>One of those days where he's not alone in thinking that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Richlee, which was a pain in the arse to write. 
> 
> I tried; so be nice. Everyone loves nice.

* * *

The digital clock on the bedside table beeps. The man on the bed shifts, peering out from under the sheets at the glowing numbers displayed.

_02:00_

He hikes the covers higher, knows from the way his weight-  _only his weight, s_ unk into the mattress that he’s still alone. The heavy air of winter carried no noise but the hum of the heater and the sound of his own breathing. His nose, accustomed to a particular scent, could catch none of that aftershave or cologne. As sleep extends it’s far reach to claim him once again, he’s certain of a few things. It's late- cold; and his partner is not back yet. 

 

The next time the man wakes, is to the sounds of feet shuffling. 

"Rich?” 

The man in question rolls over and scrubs his face, sleep still thick and crusting his eyes. Most nights one of them would be home later than the other. It was work, something both actors were passionate about, and hardly a worrying thing. Like all mature adults, they agreed they would somehow juggle around all that space and time in-between. He hears a soft curse. "Fuck- Sorry, didn't mean to wake you... I'll just-" The pitch in his lover's voice bothers him, the constricting of his thoat and the clear stutter of panic. Richard attempts to get sleep-laden limbs to function, but he doesn't get a chance. "I uh... I'll just be in the shower, go back to sleep." His voice is already far away, busy at the drawers, and then the nightstand. Feet padding across the floorboards, away from the bed, from Richard. 

The bathroom light flickers on and Richard scrubs his eyes, sighing. Allowing himself to be accustomed to the warm orange glow. The man is now a dark silhouette, slumped against the doorframe, movements weary as he spends the next ten minutes toeing his socks off. Richard spends the same amount of time watching him. It becomes evident, he can literally feel the exhaustion bleeding from his lover's frame as he struggles with his clothes. Hunched shoulders and bent knees; a wounded warrior removing a thorn from his side. The rest of his garments go- _remnants of an emotionally challenging character_ and a cracked whimper bubbles from the man's throat. A sound that sends an ache right to Richard's core and sets him on the edge, until the other is naked; stripped to his core and the door shuts. 

_Well, shit._ Being an actor himself, Richard knows this all too well. Countless hours, days, spent in someone else's head. Story and fiction, turned into months stretched too thin. The irony of fleshing out a role; an artist given to his art. Not being yourself, and yet having to dig deeper within, _to_   _find and be_   _that him, or that her._  It's merciless and grueling, and somedays, it is only too possible, to return with so little of self, both in mind and body. Richard has had times like this too, the maddening crash after the high, the nosedive that knocks air out of your lungs. And for someone mild-mannered, someone like _him_ , the notion of being spread thin would always prove to be trying.  

His affable mannerisms, however; was a huge part of the attraction. Richard muses about the first time he set eyes on the younger American, all crinkly-eyed nervous smiles, as he tried to fit himself into places too small for his gangly limbs. He could hardly identify the man off-set as the only choice for Thranduil - _the Lee Pace._  Richard remembers the flustered beating of long lashes and a drop in the candence of his voice. Something along the lines of _"Sorry!" "Coming through!" "Sorry! Sometimes I misjudge how far my legs go!"_ Richard had to admit that for a day or two, he had severe doubts behind the casting. 

Lee's efforts to blend in only made him stick out even more. What started out as nagging curiousity was quickly growing into interest, at least to Richard. Lee Pace was a man of contrasts. He had no temper, no complains, would sit in ridiculously uncomfortable chair for hours listening to Peter and the crew talk on and on. Lee himself didn't talk much, but when he did, he was both animated and eager. Slender hands moving all over the place, ideas and stories coming in the form of a wicked smile and a sharp mind. And then he was Thranduil; fire, age and power. The morphosis was fascinating, alluring even. In time, it became clear why the cast and crew were so taken to the 'tall guy from Okhlahoma', and before Richard could stop himself, he was looking at him _all the time._ They had only ever exchanged greetings in passing, _"Hey",_ and _"Hi"_ and _"What's up?"._ And it took weeks into their relationship for Richard to find out (and for Lee to shyly admit), that he wasn't the only one stealing glances. _He wasn't the only one interested._

Richard's foray into their past stops when the faucet in the bathroom turns off and the door opens. Lee emerges, towel strung over his head. Freshly showered but looking no less worn than before. Richard turns on the night lamp, not bothering to pretend to be asleep, raising a concerned brow as their eyes met. Lee's mouth falls open in a wordless surprise, eyes flighty; unable to hold Richard's gaze. He grapples with the band of his sleeping robe, the sound of his feet still a moist timbre as he pads towards the bed. If possible at all, Lee looked worse. The shadow under his eyes and the grim line of his lips accentuated by the muted glow of the light.  

"I- uh..." Lee stops by the bed, eyes meeting Richard's for a fraction of a second. The older man seeks out a connection, and Lee flinches, tears his gaze away like it would burn him if he looked any longer. He begins worrying a mark into his bottom lip. One hand scrubbing the back of his nape, weight shifting from one foot to the other. Richard knows avoidance when he sees it, but he also _knows_ his boyfriend.  _Complex and vulnerable- all skin and bones and an open book._ The Lee who is most likely thinking of grabbing his stuff and sleeping on the couch. Not wanting to disturb Richard, and never having the heart to. 

But Richard wants the exact opposite. He doesn't want Lee to skirt around the issue; _god forbid, to ever feel like he has the need to._ Not when Lee was the one who had so valiantly snatched him from his own dark place.It was simple words, and at that time, the longest sentence Lee had ever said to him. 

_"You can do this Richard. You're so much more."_

Richard remembers the warm hand resting on his shoulder. He remembers looking up at him but only registering his face seconds later. But the words rung through, struck him somewhere in the center of his chest. Good words, honest words. And those deep blue eyes that he once thought was grey (or maybe green, even hazel).  _So determined, and so fucking stubborn._ So full of light that it unnerved him. But he could not bring himself to look away. Lee was- _is_ new breath, the heady sensation of air filling his lungs; giving Richard a ferocity he never knew he had. It was then Richard knew he wanted this, he _wanted_  this man.And it made him selfish, willful when it came to _anything-Lee_. Giving up a few hours of sleep was nothing. _Hell, he would give up anything._ He wants him in every morsel of his life, and all the spaces inbetween. He wants to be burdened by him, to be imposed by Lee- _his Lee._

 

Richard finds words for him; _good words, honest words,_ when he cannot. 

"Come to bed, love." 

Lee hesitates and takes a step back. 

Richard extends his arm and smiles. 

_It's okay._

 

The break is instantaneous, he's already wound too tight. Lee looks at Richard through the fan of his lashes, gapes at him like his words are magic.  _Like he's magic and fire._ An enchantment to chase all the clouds away. Lee's knees cave to his weight, and Richard swoops up, and lets him sink into the bed, back against his chest. Richard holds him, hands clasped around Lee's waist. _He just holds him._ Giving his body as a form of solace, a penchance of support. The flutter of Lee's breaths calms in time, and Richard places kisses, soft and unrushed at his nape, at the curve of his shoulders. Lee sighs and crumples against him. And it's still strange and fascinating to Richard, _how he's 6'5"; muscles and bones, soft and supple- and his._

_Inhale, exhale and repeat._  

Safe in his arms. 

 

He takes the towel from Lee's lap, fluffs it once and wordlessly commits himself to the task of drying the man's hair. Lee's head dips against his shoulders, the blue of his eyes bright with mirth, a smile toying on his lips. _The first smile and a genuine one._  

"Rough day?" 

He gets a soft hum in response, as Lee wiggles a little out of his grasp. "Think my hair's dry now..." 

"I know," Richard replies, setting the towel aside and patting a spot beside him. Lee stretches, popping the knots in his joints, before slipping under the covers.

 "You know," Lee's starts, his breath warm on Richard's chin, ghosting the man's two day-old stubble. Voice still strained. Soft, but _not_ _far away._ "Sometimes- I just-" 

Richard cuts him off, pressing his lips on the younger man's hair. He doesn't want him to stray. Doesn't want him to get lost in his own head. _"I know,"_ he kisses him again. This time on the lips, tilting his chin for leverage. 

Lee smiles into the kiss and Richard flicks out his tongue. Lee looks surprised at first, and then his shoulders quake, with a chuckle that reverberates in his chest. "Sneaky," he scolds and Richard finds an extension of his own affections in those eyes, and maybe a little bit of _that fire, that magic._

Richard shrugs, "Just trying to convince you that the bed is _always_ better than the couch." Lee laughs and turns to his side, giving Richard room to free his arm. He starts to say something again, which Richard is certain, will be a torrent of stuttering rambles. And so he presses his index to the deep crease between Lee's brows. "Sleep," he says; certain that his lover needs this more than the nagging train of thought, dying to emerge from his head. "We have all day tomorrow," he caresses Lee's arm and lies on his back, coaxing him to do the same. "Don't think- just sleep." 

Lee huffs out the breath, chest contracting and expanding before he rakes a hand through his unruly mop of hair, rolling his eyes in jest. He finds space to settle in the crook of Richard's chest, drawing his legs up and twining them with the other man's. Here, his strapping height is hardly a hindrance at all. Here, with Richard, in _their_ home, _their_ bed.  _Here with just the shared warmth of their bodies._  

There was a long list of things that Richard found gained, since the day he received the call from Jackson. Working in not one, but three of the biggest films of all time, to be in a breathtakingly beautiful place, skill-sets he never knew he had, and risks he never knew he would take. But the highest accolade came in the form of the another heartbeat, the one that was calm and steady at his side. The fingers caught in the sleeve of his t-shirt, tracing lazy circles on the worn fabric.

Richard likes to think he got lucky with Lee. And it's crazy good, because Lee mumbles a kiss into the column of his throat and pulls himself closer, _so much closer._ Like the laws of the world and science did not matter, and it was physically possible to merge two beings into one.

“Rich?” Lee’s voice raises goosebumps on his skin, little hairs standing at needle point. He huffs out a laugh, a fascinating little sound that makes Richard’s heart swell, butterflies and their wings thumping madly in flight. “Thank you,” Lee whispers, “thank you and I fucking love you.” 

_Oh god-_ Richard raises his idle hand to his chest, finds Lee’s and laces their fingers together. _Oh god, oh god-_ As soon as he breathes out, the fluttering returns tenfold. He’s so full, so jam-packed from the inside out that he’s certain he will explode. Burst and shatter into stardust. The good kind of full. The happy kind of full. 

 

_It’s stardust._

 

_It’s musk, soap and shampoo._

 

“I love you too."

 

_It’s sunshine._

 

It’s the shape and heat of the body tucked next to him.

 

It’s Lee’s sleepy murmur, repeating his words again. “I-fucknggloveyoumore..."

 

_Maybe it’s moonbeams too._

They can really go on for hours. But it already feels too good, too certain and precious.Richard lets his eyes lid over, he’ll let it slide and let Lee _out-love him this time._ He follows the rhythm of Lee’s breathing, chases it until he finds himself slipping. A blissful, dreamy haze.

It’s knowing he’s not alone in feeling this. 

It’s knowing, _really knowing_ ; that he wasn’t the only one who got lucky. 

 


End file.
